


Stars When You Shine

by rogue_pixie88



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_pixie88/pseuds/rogue_pixie88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach’s friends drag him to a strip club for his bachelor party—the stripper isn’t what he expects at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars When You Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for the lovely avictoriangirl
> 
> Disclaimer: The story is mine, their names and faces are not.

Zach eyes the small building before him and pulls against the firm grip that Joe has on his arm. “When you said we were going out to celebrate, I’m pretty sure I said _no strip clubs_.”

Actually, Zach’s completely sure that’s what he said—partly because it was less than an hour ago that he said it, yes, but mostly because Joe needs to be told expressly what he is and isn’t allowed to drag Zach into. Far too many instances in their childhood included Zach using the phrase, “But Joe said, mom,” and getting in trouble regardless. Throughout the years, Zach has learned to steer clear of such occurrences with practiced skill.

Joe tugs him forward, laughing as the three of them join the back of the queue. “And we decided to ignore that. Didn’t we, Kristen?”

A sharp elbow digs in his side. “Come on, Quinto,” Kristen says. “One last hurrah before you tie yourself to one person for the rest of your days.”

“I don’t want a _last hurrah_. I had plans to spend tonight—”

“You don’t spend your last night of freedom with your husband-to-be curled up on your couch. It’s not traditional,” Joe adds. “I can assure you: he’s doing the same.”

“What are you even doing here, Kristen?” Zach ignores his brother’s poor efforts to pacify him in favor of rounding on Kristen. Had she shown him some support then he _might_ have ignored her part in this debacle. Tonight, her allegiance clearly rests with traitorous older brothers. “This is supposed to be a bachelor party.”

Kristen scoffs as she roots in her bag for her purse. “It’s not like there’s a bachelorette party for me to go to, is there? And I wasn’t going to pass up spending time with you on the night before the most important day of your life.” Kristen finds what she needs and winks at Zach cheekily. “Besides, I’m an admirer of the male form myself, am I not allowed to look?”

They’ve reached the head of the queue by this time. Joe already has out his and Zach’s entry fee, and the guy at the door wearing a tee shirt so tight it has to be uncomfortable is the only thing standing between Zach and a night of awkwardness. Zach would dig in his heels if he thought it might make a difference. And if it weren’t so childish. Before he realizes it, Joe has paid the doorman and is ushering Zach eagerly inside—far too eagerly in Zach’s opinion.

Joe steers him to a table, while Kristen heads toward the bar to get their drinks. When Zach protests Kristen’s insistence that Tequila be their first round, Joe leans close to his ear and says loudly to circumvent the music, “Liquid courage, Zach. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

Two shots of liquid courage later and Zach isn’t feeling any braver. In fact, the only feeling that’s intensified in any way is the desire to go home. He’s in the middle of devising some kind of escape attempt, when Joe—who’s done nothing but glance surreptitiously at his phone since Kristen returned with their drinks—swallows the last of his Tequila and stands, pulling Zach with him. Kristen remains ignorant to it, far too engrossed in staring obscenely at the waiter collecting glasses a few tables away.

“You really need to stop manhandling me, Joe,” Zach snaps. Joe does nothing but shake his head fondly; his expression translates to Zach as _Ah, isn’t my little brother adorable?_

“Well, move your ass then. You have an appointment to make.”

The night suddenly becomes that much worse. Zach thought this was the extent of it all, but to find out that there’s more—that Joe has made further arrangements than waving a dancer over—Zach really wants to curl up in embarrassment. This isn’t him. This is so far out of Zach’s comfort zone that his half-formed (and rather far-fetched) plan is looking like a fantastic alternative to whatever Joe has up his sleeve.

Ignoring Zach’s previous wish to not be pushed and pulled around like a toy, Joe takes hold of his elbow and guides him through the crowd, deftly sidestepping full tables and chairs until they reach a short corridor. Private rooms—Zach doesn’t want to be down here. He’s getting married in the morning; whatever lies beyond the door Joe is leading him to can’t be good for that.

Tradition or not, Joe is out of his mind and Zach tells him so; his exasperation builds when Joe does nothing except grin at him again. Joe knocks two or three times on the first door they reach and releases Zach’s arm.

“You know,” Zach says. “This is the exact thing mom meant when she told you to look after me.”

Joe’s chuckle is accompanied by the roll of his eyes. “Zach, she told me that when you were eight or something, I don’t think she was planning as far ahead as your bachelor party the night before you marry the man of your dreams. Have fun in there.” Joe turns to leave, clapping Zach once on the shoulder.

“Joe—”

“For once in your life, be impulsive, okay? Not everything has to be thought out and executed according to plan.” He carries on, ignoring Zach’s glare. “Go, he’s waiting for you. And don’t bother trying to escape—we have eyes on you, Zachary.”

Zach throws a dark look over his shoulder as Joe opens the door and gestures him inside. “If there’s still a ceremony to attend tomorrow, you’re uninvited.”

The door has barely shut behind him when Zach is groping for the handle, determined to hide in the hall until he deems that it’s safe to return to the table—teasing be damned. He’s prevented doing exactly that by a honey-smooth voice saying, “Not running away already, are we?”

Zach spins around. His mouth goes dry at the appearance of the voice’s owner. He’s dressed in a well-tailored suit that accentuates each perfect inch of his body, a blue shirt that matches his eyes, and a hat that is strikingly similar to one Zach has at home—all of this on show as he stands casually at the room’s center. His arms unfold; Zach tracks the movement as his hands are pushed into the pockets of his pants. “Well?”

Zach wants to bang his head against the wall at the inarticulate noise he emits in response before managing a small, “No.”

“Good, because that would be a shame,” he says. “Anyway, call me Jim.”

Zach raises an eyebrow skeptically, but decides to play along. “ _Jim_?” He hasn’t had much (any) experience with strippers, but he thought that they all had ridiculously exotic names. Or maybe that’s just female strippers. Still, _Jim_ seems kind of average. The name, that is, not the man. The man most definitely does not fit into Zach’s definition of ‘ordinary’.

“Would you prefer ‘Captain Kirk’?” Zach raises both brows this time. “Not a _Star Trek_ fan, huh?”

Jim takes his hand and leads Zach like a docile lamb to a seat, pushing him gently to sit on it. He braces a hand on the armrest either side of Zach, face hovering a whisper away as he says, “I was told it was a special occasion tomorrow. So—birthday?”

Trying hard not to stare unabashedly at Jim’s mouth (it’s close to his own—so close and so very alluring), Zach shakes his head. Blood is rushing in his ears and thrumming through his veins; he can’t decide whether it’s from anticipation or nerves at this situation he’s been placed in. “I’m getting married.”

Jim’s eyebrow hikes to his hairline. “Seems to me there’s something you aren’t telling your future wife, Zachary.”

“I’m gay.”

He laughs then, Jim does, full and rich, eyes lighting up with it, head thrown back to expose an expanse of neck that calls out to be kissed and bitten. “Yeah, I kind of figured that.”

“No, I mean I’m marrying a man. We’re having a commitment ceremony.”

“Congratulations then. Of course, if my man did this before we got married, I’d have a few rules. Odd, considering what I’m doing, right?” Jim waves a hand. “Never mind that though, my rule: no touching me. As my mom is fond of saying, ‘ _you look with your eyes_.’ We clear?”

Zach nods wordlessly, speech obviously beyond him at this point. Jim nods once and steps away from Zach. He watches for a moment, apparently assessing the likelihood of Zach absconding. Jim has nothing to fear; Zach couldn’t run away even if he wanted to (as well he did not so long ago). Evidently, his mind is a fickle thing, easily swayed by a pretty face and the suggestive lilt of full lips.

The lights dim, softening Jim’s appearance; music begins to filter through the speakers, playing a different song than the club proper. Zach’s attention is caught solely on the man before him as he slowly begins to rock side to side. This alone is enough to hold his focus, this mesmerizing show of muscle and music, right until one of Jim’s hands travels up his side, across his chest and down his arm to grasp at his jacket. Each movement is executed with timed precision, each beat of music punctuated with the slide of jacket sleeves over nimble fingers—to be thrown toward Zach and land at his feet—and the tempting undoing of shirt buttons.

Jim’s shirt soon joins his jacket at Zach’s feet. Zach swallows as Jim’s fingers stray to the button on his pants, drawing the moment on and on until he ceases his teasing and snaps it open. Heat curls in Zach’s belly, spreading like wildfire untamed and incredible, throughout his entire body as Jim turns his back to allow Zach the pleasure of following the deliberate journey of fitting black pants down strong thighs, and muscled calves.

Jim glances back over his shoulder, tossing Zach a confident grin as he steps deftly away from the pants now pooled on the floor—a clever move that would have sent Zach sprawling to the ground had he attempted it. Perhaps Jim’s eyes remain locked with Zach’s a little too long, but then he’s abiding to the music once more, dancing perfectly in time. Although Jim could quite as easily be dancing to the beat of Zach’s heart. It’s pounding in his chest to a cadence all its own, and surely has to be sounding out loud enough to supersede the music—at least to Zach’s own ears.

Zach’s breath catches as the music reaches its height and Jim begins to move toward him, closer and closer until Zach is forced to tilt his head backward to take him all in, each inch of glorious naked flesh that seems to call out for the sensitive touch of a lover.

This is, without a doubt, the single most erotic experience of Zach’s life—an experience never likely to occur again save for replays of this memory in the privacy of his own mind. He has to fight ruthlessly against every pleasure-seeking urge in his body to allay the need flaring within to reach out and just _touch_. But he promised he wouldn’t; he’s going to keep that promise even if it nearly drives him mad from want, even if the scent of Jim—sweat and sex and spice—is causing every synapse in his mind to fire erratically.

The sad thing is Zach knows he’ll never recall this collection of moments as perfect as they really are. He’ll forget the exact rhythm that dictates the sway of Jim’s hips, covered as they are in those silky blue shorts; the way Jim’s eyes stay fixed on his, watching intently and gauging every miniscule reaction; the way Jim reaches toward the hat somehow still on his head and drags it over his face and down his torso.

It culminates with Jim on his knees between Zach’s legs, raised up so that their eyes are level, with Jim’s hat perched on Zach’s head like it belongs there. They sit there for a few moments, both of them fighting to regulate the rapid rise and fall of their chests as the music dies down.

Finally, Jim’s fingertips trail across the slim surface of Zach’s tie before curling around it and tugging him forward the smallest amount. “Can I make a request before you run off and marry that man of yours?” Zach nods clumsily, cynical of his ability to speak without saying something extremely embarrassing. “A kiss.”

Zach has no time to respond as Jim’s hand flies up to cover his mouth. “Before you protest, I’m not asking for tongue or the special tricks you save for him when the two of you are so wrapped up in each other you can’t tell where you end and he begins.” Fingertips drag across his lips (teasing, more teasing), lingering there for a few seconds. Jim smiles; the mere sight of it makes Zach want to agree to practically anything. “Just your lips.”

Instantly, impulsively, Zach’s body complies, leaning forward to catch Jim’s willing mouth. The kiss is perfectly chaste, completely innocent even—the same kiss a child might share with their sweetheart. A few seconds pass and Jim pulls away. “Thanks,” he whispers.

Slightly dazed from the intensity of recent happenings, Zach stands and carefully makes his way to the door.

“Hey, Zach?”

The calling of his name makes him turn. The second he does he finds himself backed into the door by a warm body, hips pushing against his own and hands somehow finding space to slide into his back pockets. He meets those blue eyes and can’t stop a smile from spreading across his face when those lips descend on his once more. They kiss lazily, parting only to catch their breath.

Zach’s eyes close as a forehead is pressed to his own and words whisper across his lips, feather-light. “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow.”

Zach splays his hands over the naked back beneath his palm, relishing the feel of muscle and flesh and remembering how they moved before him moments ago. “Me neither, Chris,” he says just as quietly. “God, me neither.”

Zach kisses Chris then, just because he can and to show his appreciation for all of this. “Are you joining us out there or are you being whisked away elsewhere?”

“I’m joining you, just as soon as I’m dressed. Can’t have everyone staring at me, can we?”

“No,” Zach replies. The word draws into a low moan as Chris kisses a slow path up his neck, over his jaw. “I want to keep this side of you all to myself, want to keep every side of you all to myself.” Selfish as that is, Zach can’t find it in himself to care, not when Chris is pressing into him like he is. Chris buries his face in Zach’s shoulder as Zach trails his fingertips just under the waistband of Chris’ shorts. His hands grow bolder, venture lower; Zach feels teeth dig briefly into the flesh just above his shirt collar.

“You’ve had your fun for tonight, Mr. Quinto.” Chris reaches around to remove Zach’s wandering hands and entwines their fingers, letting their joined arms hang by their sides. “Save something for tomorrow night, stud.” Something flashes through Chris’ face—an emotion Zach hasn’t seen directed toward him since their relationship was in its infancy and Chris was often struck with doubt and uncertainty.

“Not to sound incredibly needy or anything, but it _was_ fun for you, right? I mean, that wasn’t all some horrible incident that will make you cringe in embarrassment when you think on it later?”

“Chris, are you serious? You couldn’t tell I had fun?”

Chris shrugs; trying hard to pretend that he could care less about Zach’s honest opinion. And Chris—obviously aware of Zach’s uncanny ability to interpret his moods—returns his face to its previous spot in his shoulder. “You are an actor,” he mutters.

Freeing one of his hands, Zach tips Chris’ face up to let their eyes meet. “Not that good an actor. Tonight was perfect. _You_ were perfect.” He kisses Chris once more, heart aching at the abrupt transition from the gorgeous, confident man he loves to a shyer version—a man sure of failure, expectant of letting Zach down and blind to his enthralling effect on people, on _Zach_. “It was the best wedding present I could ask for.”

The tension floods from Chris’ body and he leans a little heavier against Zach. “That’s all I wanted,” Chris says. “To do something for you.”

“We’ll have to lie when my mom asks what you gave me,” Zach tells him with a soft laugh. “I think she’d rather remain ignorant to the more intimate details of our relationship. Joe told me when we visited last that as far as she was concerned the furthest we got was holding hands and trading—I believe the term he used was—gooey looks.”

“Gooey looks? You know, I think we’ve been accused of that once or twice before,” Chris laughs, and then brushes his lips along Zach’s. “You shouldn’t keep everyone waiting; they’ll think we’re having sex back here.”

“They know us too well.” And as much as Zach would like that to be true, as much as he’d like to expend some of this exhilaration showing Chris how amazing he is, he doesn’t really want to do it here. Zach allows Chris to pull away. Without Chris’ weight pressing him so firmly into the door, the feel of his body in his arms, the taste of him, Zach suddenly feels bereft. Absurd when Chris is still so near.

Chris' insecurities from seconds ago are suddenly forgotten, gone like they never existed, replaced by something so utterly lascivious that it makes Zach's gut twist and flare with renewed want. “Intimate details, hmm?” Chris repeats. Choosing now to pick up on that bit of conversation, Chris gives Zach a somewhat devilish smirk and begins to gradually sink to his knees. The tip of his nose traces a path down Zach's stomach as he does, making him suck in his breath in anticipation. Chris obviously has no such compunctions about the two of them having any kind of sexual contact here.

Zach allows his eyes to fall shut and his head to fall back against the door as Chris navigates around his jeans and underwear, satisfied that Chris’ goal is to end the torture he began with his dance and put Zach out of his sweet misery. And that’s exactly what Chris does. Zach braces one hand against the door, palm flat to maintain his balance, and can’t help but thread the other through Chris’ hair, fingertips encouraging as Chris’ mouth works him with talented flair.

Chris’ name falls from Zach’s lips in stuttered breaths as the base of his spine begins to tingle all too familiarly; he’s barely cogent enough to warn Chris of his imminent orgasm, when it washes over him suddenly—the perfect climax to what feels to Zach like an eternity of build-up.

Soft kisses are left at random intervals on Zach’s thigh, his hip, his chest, as Chris returns to his upright position. Zach opens his eyes to find Chris smiling for all the world like he’s just received everything he’s ever wanted. Zach is compelled once again to share a kiss with Chris—one that tastes of them both. His efforts to reciprocate are again thwarted by Chris’ pushing his hand gently away.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “ Tomorrow, Zach.”

Zach nods, keen to do as Chris wishes. “Hurry up and join us out there, alright?”

“I will.”

Chris turns to collect the pieces of his discarded suit. Zach rights his own clothes and watches as Chris bends at the waist to retrieve his shirt and pants, giving him an altogether enticing view. Chris, without turning back around, pulls on his shirt and playfully says, “You aren’t leaving.”

“I am. Promise. Enjoying the view, that’s all. I’ll see you out there, Chris.”

“Don’t be drooling over the guys on stage, I mean it.”

“Are you kidding? My man can dance circles around those guys.” Knowing Chris as well as he does, Zach is sure that he’s smiling now—one of those pleased-beyond-words smiles that only shows up when the cameras are gone and it’s simply the two of them.

“Chris?” Chris turns, buttoning his shirt and covering up the plains of his body. “I love you.”

They don’t say it often— _I love you_ —because both are firm believers that constant repetition of the sentiment renders it insignificant. Instead of a true expression of their emotion in the moment, it becomes a turn of phrase said out of habit with no real feeling behind it. _I love you_ becomes as mundane as _nice weather we’re having, don’t you think so?_ So they say it when it matters, when one of them needs a little reassurance by hearing those words, when the time is right for them alone.

Although Chris’ smile widens and a flush covers his face, he doesn’t say it back—doesn’t need to. “Go, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Leaving him to get dressed, Zach makes his way back to the table. There are more people around it compared to when he left. Kristen is now gossiping with the newly-arrived Zoe, the two of them trying to catch a waiter’s eye. Joe looks like he’s enthusiastically matching Karl shot for shot, while John is staring dreamily at the female dancers currently occupying the stage. No doubt more of their friends are around somewhere. So many people involved in tonight’s secret and not an inkling of anything from a single one of them. Chris especially proving how good an actor he is—curled up on the couch and insisting Zach head out and party with his brother because he wanted “an early night. Big day tomorrow, remember?”

He takes a seat beside Joe, who takes one look at him over the rim of his half-empty shot glass and groans. “Good God, Zach, do you have to look like that?” Zach remains silent, unsure what reply Joe is expecting considering all the devious planning it likely took to get him in that private room alone with Chris.

“You have that sickeningly sweet love-struck look on your face again,” Joe clarifies. Zach averts his eyes from Karl’s knowing smirk lingering on the hat atop is head, self-consciously worrying his lip with his teeth and wondering when he became so predictable. He suspects it just might be around the time Chris became such a big part of his life.

Chris deigns to joins them as Zach ponders this; the table’s occupants whoop and catcall as he sits down. In the club’s hazy light only Zach is near enough to see the blush coloring Chris’ face. Zach’s heart clenches wonderfully in his chest at the sight, his body singing with the knowledge that this time tomorrow, he’ll be Chris’ and Chris will be his for the rest of their lives.

Chris’ hand comes to rest on his knee, his thumb stroking back and forth. Zach places his hand over Chris’, squeezing his fingers. “You know what, Joe? When you have a man like mine that look is inevitable.”

*

When the night eventually comes to an end, Chris is pulled in one direction by Karl, Zach in the other by Joe; everyone else disperses after trading goodbyes with a mind to sleep off the night’s festivities in preparation for tomorrow. He and Chris are graciously permitted one last kiss before they’re separated. One kiss to tide him over until four o’ clock tomorrow hardly seems fair, but Joe won’t hear any of it. It’s like he’s following some kind of itinerary; the last item must read: _tease Zach with the prospect of his gorgeous fiancé and then make him go home alone to spend the night frustrated as hell_.

Sitting in the cab, half-asleep and nearly unconscious to the streets passing by the window, Zach replays the night in his head. “Is it strange,” he says quietly, inclining his head in Joe’s direction, “that the best part of my night was Chris’ arms around me just then?” The time spent privately with Chris at the start of the night is definitely up there too, but Zach figures Joe already knows that.

“No, little brother, not strange at all. You’re ridiculously in love; it’s only to be expected that you act like a smitten schoolboy.”

Zach _hmms_ , too exhausted to formulate a rebuttal, and goes back to watching the city go by. The rest of the ride passes in near silence until his phone trills from somewhere in his jacket. His uncoordinated fingers fumble in his pocket and withdraw empty. Joe sighs; Zach imagines he’s being cursed silently as well. Regardless, Joe leans in to dig in Zach’s pockets, finds his phone quickly and pulls it out. He groans just as he did in the club at whatever’s on the display and then hands it to Zach.

It takes him a few seconds to focus his vision, but when Zach succeeds he does indeed feel like a smitten schoolboy, and he has the inkling that tomorrow Chris will blame his message on the alcohol he imbibed. One beer was all Zach saw and therefore hardly a plausible excuse. For the sake of a smooth start to their married lives, he’ll let it slide.

 _If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you_.

Zach smiles to himself as he tucks his phone away, imagining tomorrow when the possibility of living without Chris is gone for good.

*

* quote by A.A Milne


End file.
